Turn On The Radio And Dance
by raeghan
Summary: She is struggling to know exactly where she comes from and he knows exactly where he comes from and that's a struggle. Missing scene from Hell's Belles. Title is from Kellie Pickler's song Turn on the Radio and Dance


"Hey." She sets the empty wine glass down and taps her nail against the worn wood of the bar. "I want another one."

"You know we're technically closed." He tells her as he wipes down the bar.

She rocks the glass in the circle on its base with one hand and continues to tap her finger with the other. "So?"

"So-." He drawls and finally looks up from his work to look at her. "I don't have to do anything for you. You shouldn't even be in here. I should kick you out."

She laughs shortly and shakes her head. "Yeah right. Now come on." She slides the glass down towards him and he catches it right before it falls off the bar. "Whoa. That was a close one." She laughs again and he rolls his eyes.

She's been here for an hour and a half and she's had a glass of wine in her hand the whole time. She looks tired and drunk. Her belle dress is wrinkled; the red gloves and hat she's been wearing are off and sitting on the stool next to her.

"I think you need to slow down." He only fills the glass a quarter of the way full and passes it back to her.

"I'm fine. And this is not a glass of wine. This is a Dixie cup of wine."

She brings the glass to her lip and tips her head back.

"Slow down." He warns.

But she pulls the empty glass away from her mouth and sets it back down on the bar again.

"Give me another."

"You know what?" He mumbles and grabs the wine bottle from behind the bar and puts it in front of her. Her eyes light up. "You can pour your own. But I am not responsible for getting you home."

She pours herself a full glass as he walks around the bar to start wiping down the tables and she swivels around to face him holding the glass elegantly in her hand despite her tipsy demeanor.

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem." He says hotly.

She's not deterred by his tone. "You obviously do. _I'm not responsible for getting you home?" _She imitates his voice. "What the hell is that? You'd usually be all over that. What's your problem?"

His problem was George Tucker. And Earl. George Tucker and Earl and that stupid piece of land that Earl owns and George doing all he can to make sure it doesn't get sold and trying to save the town and doing everything that he doesn't want him to do. And now on top of all of that he has to deal with a drunken doctor (something that would usually thrill him) that won't stop asking questions.

"I told you; I don't have a problem." He looks over his shoulder at her and she raises her eyebrows. "Honey."

That interrupts the slow, steady sip she's been taking and she pulls the glass away with a pout. She slides off the stool and puts the glass down.

"I'm a Belle, a Southern Belle, a 'Bama Belle, a Dixie Belle, I got secrets I won't tell, y'all don't like it go to hell-o soldier what's your pleasure?"

He laughs like he did the first time he saw her in that ridiculous outfit. She's been the one thing to make him feel better throughout all of this.

"I don't like you." She grumbles and he shrugs. "You wanna know what my problem is?"

"I think I can see what your problem is."

"It's not just the dress. It's everything. Do you know what I had to do today? I hand squeezed about ten gallons of lemonade. Twice." She holds up two fingers for a dramatic flourish. "I washed a car, hand washed clothing for a billion hours, dried a dog using a hair dryer and I've polished silverware and milked the Breeland's cow-."

"They don't have a cow."

Her jaw drops. "Well today they did." She rubs her hand across her forehead. "I am so tired."

"And drunk."

"I am not drunk."

"Oh no?"

"No. I am not."

He goes back to cleaning. "Whatever you say."

"You definitely have a problem." She says under her breath. "Whoops." He hears her sigh and something clunk to the floor. "It's alright. Just spilled a little and one of my shoes came off. Whatever."

"Yeah. You're not drunk at all." He says sarcastically.

She ignores him in favor of topping off her glass.

"This dress is pretty awful though." She smoothes her hands over the ruffled fabric and sighs. "It's like bar 70's country prom. Do you guys have prom down here?"

"Yes." He snaps.

"Oh. Did you go to yours?"

"Yup."

"How'd that go?"

"Pretty well. My date and I didn't leave the backseat of my car."

"All right, okay. You don't have to get graphic." She shudders and leans back with her elbows on the bar. "You really didn't—you actually didn't go to your prom?"

He shakes his head.

"That makes me sad."

"Why?"

"Because prom is fun. You hang out and take pictures and dance-."

"I think I had a pretty good time doing what I was doing."

"Don't get smutty while I'm reminiscing."

"Sorry."

"I had fun at my prom." She continues. "It was fun. All my friends were there and I watched the guy I had a crush on from across the room the whole night."

"Aren't you supposed to dance with the guy you have a crush on?"

"Maybe if you live a perfect life but if you don't you go with your guy friend as your date and you watch the guy you want dance with all the pretty girls."

"I think you're pretty." He says softly. He didn't even mean to say it and thankfully she's too drunk to hear how full of meaning it was.

"That's nice." She says just as softly. "I wonder what it would've been like if I lived down here and went to prom here."

"You'll never know." That's harsher than he really means it to be but once again she takes no notice to it.

A silence falls over the room. The only noise is the sound of the music flowing from the jukebox; a sweet country song.

'_baby drive down by the lake, you know that old back road, the one that leads right straight to our old hide out cove, need to drown out this whole world and turn on the radio and dance...'_

"Hey. Wade."

He turns around when he hears shuffling. She's kicked off her other shoe and is smoothing out her dress.

She holds out her hand to him. "Come dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me?"

"Why?"

"Because. Okay." She holds her hand up. "I'm a little bit drunk and I'm thinking about my prom and how you didn't get yours properly and it's making me sad and I'm so tired-."

"And pathetic."

"A little bit of that too."

She pouts then smiles and he begrudgingly takes her hand. She immediately pulls him closer to her and puts her arms around his neck. His automatically go around her waist; hands pressing against the small of her back.

She's small, even smaller barefoot, and her head that's heavy with sleep and wine, rests against his chest.

He holds her a little tighter and thinks about what she said. If she had grown up here is this what prom would've been like? He wants to think that he wouldn't have left her standing off to the side watching some other guy dance with other girls. He would've danced with her.

'_turn on the radio and dance, baby all I wanna do is kick off these old shoes and turn on the radio and dance…'_

"I like you." She says it quietly but she burrows her face into his chest like she's making sure he reacts.

"Zoe-."

"There you are." Lemon's shrill but sweet voice breaks through their little moment and Zoe groans as her arms tighten around his neck like holding on to him will stop Lemon from tearing her away. "You know my day isn't over for two more hours and you've been MIA so you have to make up for that."

Zoe's arms fall away from his shoulders but he still holds her lightly as Lemon crosses the empty room to the barstool to grab Zoe's hat, gloves, and shoes.

"And you are supposed to be wearing these all the time." She shoves them into Zoe's hands and Wade finally backs away. "You are on thin ice Zoe Hart."

"I know, I know." Zoe grumbles as she pulls on the gloves.

"What was that?"

"I said I know and I'm sorry." She puts the hat back on her head and balances against Wade so she can put her shoes on.

"All right. Now let's go." Lemon takes her by the arm so she can guide her towards the exit. "Are you drunk?" She exclaims.

"No."

"And you need to watch the kind of people that you're-." Lemon looks over her shoulder to Wade. "Sharing company with. Bluebell Belles do not spend time with bartenders."

"That's not the story I've been hearing."

"Don't you listen to those rumors." Lemon hushes her as they turn the corner and disappear from sight and Wade has to laugh.

Once again Zoe Hart is the only thing to make him feel better.


End file.
